Les Hetalia
by Lil' Miss Superfan
Summary: First crossover fanfic! Basically the story of Les Miserables using the Hetalia characters. Arthur Kirkland has broken his parole. Now, he must take care of Amelia, the orphaned daughter of the late Alice. Over the years, he must watch over Amelia, help the Rebellion, and stay away from Inspector Bonnefoy. Enjoy, and please review!


1815

Twenty-six years after the start of the French Revolution

A King is once again on the throne of France.

* * *

The storm was heavy, and the convicts were struggling to pull in the ship, grunting gruffly. Most were waist-deep in salty brine, but some were lucky enough to be standing on the side staircases. Nonetheless, water poured down and the grunting continued. The process was simple. Grab, pull, grab, pull. Arthur's entire body was numb with pain and sores. Nothing was more shameful, nothing was more unfair.

"Look down, look down,

Don't look them in the eye!"

The words poured out of him in anger. The rest of the convicts echoed him, resonating his pain.

"Look down, look down,

You're here until you die."

The man pulling the rope beside Arthur took in a heaving breath.

"No God above!

And Hell alone below!"

The group now echoed this man.

"Look down, look down,

There's twenty years to go!"

Another man, this one directly behind Arthur, continued the chant.

"I've done no wrong!

Sweet Jesus, hear my prayer!"

They echoed,

"Look down, look down,

Sweet Jesus doesn't care!"

Another convict,

"I know she'll wait!

I know that she'll be true!"

The chant had erupted into shouting by now, and the echoes blended with the downpour,

"Look down, look down,

They've all forgotten you!"

Another man took a turn, shouting rhythmically,

"When I get free,

You won't see me,

Here for dust!"

With a final grunt of the convicts, the ship was pulled into the yard. One by one, they filed back indoors. Arthur followed, expecting nothing different. Nothing was new. For nineteen years, things had been the same, and they weren't going to change anytime soon.

"Look down,

Look down,

You'll always be a slave.

Look down,

Look down,

You're standing in your grave!"

Arthur continued to walk, shackled like a captive, but was suddenly stopped by a guard. Dressed all in blue, he wore a deep scowl on his face.

"Retrieve the flag," the man commanded bluntly in a strong French accent. Arthur turned around. A huge pole with an extremely tattered French flag lay on the muddy ground. He bent down, crouched and grunting heavily, thick eyebrows knit in frustration. A few other prisoners paused for a moment to watch. Slowly, Arthur lifted the pole, heaving it over his tired shoulder and gradually getting to his feet. He struggled, the pole dragging behind him, the flag sloshing in the mud. As Arthur approached the guard, he dropped the pole, which landed with a heavy thud. The guard's scowl remained constant.

"Now, prisoner two-four-six-oh-one," he began, "Your time is up and your parole's begun." Arthur was shocked. It was over. No more pulling. No more heaving. No more exhausting physical work. He was a free man. "Do you know what that means?" the guard continued.

"Yes," Arthur gushed, "It means I'm free-"

"-No!" the guard roared, appearing to restrain from slapping Arthur. "Follow to the letter your Itinerary!" He pushed a yellow document into Arthur's hand, "This badge of shame, you'll show it 'till you die! It warns you are a dangerous man!"

"I stole a loaf of bread!" Arthur snapped. It was but a petty crime, and the law enforcement didn't understand his situation. "My sister's child was close to death! We were starving-"

"You will starve again!" the guard snapped back, not willing to listen to any of Arthur's reasoning. "Unless you learn the meaning of the law." Arthur looked at his dirty, barren feet. How could he have forgotten that he was a slave only a moment ago?

"I know the meaning of those nineteen years. A slave of the law!" The guard pointed accusingly at Arthur, his long blond hair shielding view from his eyes.

"Five years for what you did!" he shouted, "The rest because you tried to run! Yes, two-four-six-oh-one!"

"My name is Arthur Kirkland!" Arthur interjected, removing the guard's finger from against his chest.

"And I'm Bonnefoy!" the guard, Bonnefoy, responded, "Do not forget my name! Do not forget me, two-four-six-oh-one!" Arthur continued to walk away, his eyes locked with Bonnefoy's. The prisoners' chant rattled through his mind, repeating over and over.

"Look down,

Look down,

You'll always be a slave.

Look down,

Look down,

You're standing in your grave!"

Arthur kept walking away from the prison for God knows how long, never looking back. Bonnefoy's icy, ocean-colored eyes were forever etched into his memory. After a long while, the shipyard was no longer in sight, and Arthur came to a steep cliff. There was a pile of stones there with a cross sandwiched in the middle. Arthur froze when he reached the edge, panting. He was free. Free.

"Freedom at last," he thought aloud, "How strange the taste. Never forget the years, the waste, nor forgive them for what they've done. They are the guilty. Everyone. The day begins, and now let's see what this new world will do for me." With that, Arthur, puzzled and deep in thought, trudged along the cliffsides. Eventually, he spotted a young redheaded overseer with a pipe in his mouth. Arthur approached the man. "Can I help?" he asked, "A day's work?"

"Papers," the overseer demanded. Arthur removed his threadbare woolen cap, revealing his awkwardly shaven gold-colored hair, and pulled out his itinerary. The overseer snatched it up and studied it closely for a moment. "No work here," he concluded. Arthur sighed, and then kept going.

* * *

"Kirkland, as a dangerous man, you will be on parole forever," the Mairie Officer said, "Failure to report means immediate arrest. Be in Pontarlier in thirty days." Arthur grasped the papers, ashamed, and crept out silently. The officer slammed his book shut. "Follow him," he ordered a guard.

Though he was out of prison, Arthur Kirkland was far from a free man. When he was in town, adults mocked him. Children cast stones upon him. However, he could not fight back. The best he could do was shout and hope that they would run away. The torture followed him everywhere. He always had to show his papers before trying to stay at an inn, and was rejected anyway. He was beaten by police for no reason at all. One night, in the snowy cold, Arthur came upon a church. Never having been a man of any religion, he reluctantly lay at its door. All of a sudden, he heard footsteps. Looking up, Arthur saw a man that looked neither young nor old. His golden eyes were small but full of understanding and the stubbly outline of a beard tickled his chin. His dark hair was graying and judging by his robes, he was some sort of priest.

"Come in, sir, for you are weary," the man said, voice barely above a whisper, "And the night is cold out here. Though our lives are very humble, what we have, we have to share," The man led Arthur into the church. "There is wine here to revive you. There is bread to make you strong," Arthur threw down his bag. Never had he seen such abundance on a table. "There is a bed to rest 'till morning," the man continued, "Rest from pain, an rest from wrong," Arthur sat down quickly at the table, shoveling the savory-smelling stew into his open mouth. His mother had taught him that it was terrible manners to do that, but Arthur was too hungry to care. As he chewed, Arthur glanced up to see the priest mumbling a prayer of thanks.

When he lay in bed, Arthur sighed. This man didn't even know him! He didn't ask for any itineraries or papers. He simply let Arthur in, fed him, and let him rest. Arthur just didn't understand. They didn't deserve to be burdened by him. Thinking quickly, Arthur sprung out of bed and snuck to the cupboard. Inside were gleaming plates and chalices. Treasure to him. Enough francs to support him for life and have some left over. Careful not to let them clank and make noise, he stuffed each dish into his bag until it overflowed. He ran outside of the church, the metal cross clattering as it fell from his hands.

* * *

"Get in there! Put him down!" The first policeman ordered. The second one dropped Arthur to the ground and kicked him. He should have known. Taking silver from the Bishop...

"That is right," the Bishop said. Arthur's eyes shot up. "But, my friend, you left so early, surely something slipped your mind," The Bishop walked over to the table and handed two slightly tarnished silver candlesticks to Arthur. "You forgot I gave these also, would you leave the best behind?" He turned to the police. "Release him." The policemen left. However, the Bishop crouched so as to be on Arthur's level. "But remember this, my brother, see in this some higher plan. You must use this precious silver to become an honest man. By the witness of the martyrs, by the passion and the blood, God has raised you out of darkness. I have saved your soul for God." The Bishop made the Sign of the Cross over Arthur's head.

Arthur sat on the cold church floor, rereading his itinerary for the twenty-eighth time. He had never been so wrong. Everything he had ever done was wrong. He needed to fix this. He needed to change. Arthur knelt down at the crucifix, head bowed. "What have I done?" he whispered, "Sweet Jesus, what have I done? Become a thief in the night, become a dog on the run. Have I fallen so far? And is the hour so late, that nothing remains but the cry of my hate? The cries in the dark that nobody hears, here where I stand the turning of the years?" Arthur stood up, "If there's another way to go, I missed it twenty long years ago! My life was a war that could never be won! They gave me a number! They murdered Kirkland when they chained me and left me for dead," Arthur tilted his head down and spat out, "Just for stealing a mouthful of bread."

He began to breathe heavily, each breath with pain, each word feeling like a stabbing in the heart. "Yet why did I allow this man to touch my soul and teach me love? He treated me like any other, he gave me trust, he called me 'brother'. My life he claims for God above! Can such things be? For I had come to hate the world, this world that always hated me!" Arthur began to shout now, "Take an eye for an eye! Turn your heart into stone! This is all I have lived for! This is all I have known!" Arthur turned around, then whispered, "One word from him and I'd be back beneath the lash, upon the rack!" Tears began to fall down his dirty cheeks. "Instead he offers me my freedom! I feel my shame inside me like a knife! He told me that I have a soul! How does he know? What spirit comes to move my life?"

Arthur began to run towards the crucifix. Immediately, he fell to his knees, weeping. "Is there another way to go? I am reaching but I fall, and the night is closing in. As I stare into the void, to the whirlpool of my sin," Arthur stood up abruptly, "I'll escape now from that world, from the world of Arthur Kirkland!" His voice became louder and stronger, "Arthur Kirkland is nothing now! Another story must begin!" Arthur knew he had to change. This was his chance. He ran from the church, outside to the top of the steep hill it sat on. He gripped the itinerary in his sweaty palms and tore it into pieces. As he approached the edge of the hill, Arthur threw the shreds of paper into the wind. A strong gust picked up the yellow shreds and carried them to places unknown.

At last, Arthur Kirkland was a free man.

* * *

Author's Note: Hey there. It's been a really long time since I last wrote for you guys. I apologize for being away for so long and then starting a new fic. So, to make up for it, here's the longest chapter I've ever written in the most epic crossover ever! Anyway, the characters from this chapter are as follows:

England as Jean Valjean

France as Javert

Scotland as the overseer

Roman Empire as the Bishop

**Please note that I do not own Hetalia or Les Miserables. Both are copyright to their respective owners.**


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